Freaky Friars from France
by Good Queen Vold
Summary: The weirdest FaramirEowyn romance you'll ever read along with the craziest parody of the battle of Pelennor Fields. Flames will barbecue Elrond... keep them coming! (Written in 2004, and therefore absolutely awful.)
1. The Steward and the Ring Ding

_Ah, welcome to the revised and improved version of Freaky Friars From France. I fixed some typos, added Gollum's lacy panties and revised some paragraphs._

_Lord of the Rings does not belong to me. The poem 'Animal Feet' belongs to my dear sister Jasmine. I do not own the Hamburglar or Ronald McDonald. Faramir's poem is mine. The songs aren't. Got it? Good._

* * *

"Please, sir," Éowyn begged. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."

The Warden blinked and stared at the crazy woman before him. "Does it look like I give a flying rat's arse about your unrest? But I _can_ give you a sloth, if you'd like," the Warden took a furry South American mammal out of his Jansport hiking backpack and shoved it into Éowyn's arms. "I hope that satisfies your sexual needs."

Éowyn looked from the sloth to the Warden. This was not what she wanted. Why would anyone want a sloth, let alone sleep with one? Éowyn pouted. "I don't want a sloth. I only want one thing, and it's definitely not a sloth."

"What do you want, then?" asked the Warden.

"Let me see the steward and I shall tell him what I want. Where's the little sucker?"

The Warden winked seductively at the sloth. "In the little girls' room..."

**-In the girls' loo- **

Faramir Nora was pacing back and forth in the restroom. He had originally come there because he needed to change his tampon, but it was a great place to ponder stuff. Outside it was light, but his heart was dark. For some odd reason, he seemed to know that his loony pops burned himself, and it comforted him to know that his ashes could be used as kitty litter for stray cats. Farrikins was also happy that Boromir was feeding the fishies in the river and perhaps Hannibal Lecter. At least his body was good for _something_, while Faramir, alive, was good for nothing. He wanted to cry.

"Faramir!"

He spun around and saw a blonde woman in ghetto garb holding a sloth. He recognized her as the Grim Reaper.

"Long time no see, eh, bud?" said Faramir happily, giving the Grim Reaper a high-five. "What have you been up to, you sexy reaper of all that may be grim?"

Éowyn wrinkled her unusually large nose. Faramir did the same with his even larger nose. "I'm not the Grim Reaper," she said gloomily. "I am just an impoverished thesaurus with a sinus infection."

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

"Tell the perverted Warden to let me go!"

"Perverted?"

"He likes squirrels," Éowyn said. She really wanted to leave for one special reason. "Just tell him to let me go! You're the effing steward so do something about it! I just want to go streaking..."

Faramir could not help but laugh. Éowyn's annoying grey eyes filled with tears as he laughed. "It's not funny...oh yes, my window does not look east."

"What's east, precious?" asked Faramir. This deranged woman was quite funny and he wanted to hear what she had to say. Of course, he was secretly in love with her because the author made him, but there was something about her perverted ways that made him giggle and want to rename himself Stella.

"Mordor is east," Éowyn sighed and looked towards what was supposedly east.

"What's in Mordor, precious, eh? Yes, precious," hissed Faramir. He liked to pretend he was the oh-so-sexy Gollum, his other secret crush.

"Orcs..."

"What's so special about orcs, eh, precious?"

"They're hot," said Éowyn. She winked and longingly looked east.

"Alright, we'll compromise. We can walk in the gardens in our insane array of undergarments and look east, but I won't have the Warden release you because the author is sadistic. Deal?"

Éowyn farted, bowed, and ran back to the house. Faramir skipped over to the local pet store and consumed bird seed, but Éowyn was constantly on his mind.

**-five days later, you turd sandwich-**

"Farrikins, I'm cold," whined Éowyn. She was cuddling the sloth for warmth, but it wasn't helping very much. After all, it was very cold and holding furry mammals doesn't keep one warm. Faramir and Éowyn were stupid...they were chillin' outside in the middle of March in their knickers. Faramir was sporting a shiny yellow tube top and a pair of Gollum's lacy panties. It was sexy. On the other hand, Éowyn was sporting the author's brother's Jar Jar Binks boxers and a bra that had once belonged to her cousin, Théodred. It was not sexy, but extremely revolting to the point that the author felt like throwing up her dinner, which she did after writing this paragraph.

"You are the neediest bitch ever," spat Faramir. "But fine...take my mum's cardigan."

Faramir had sent for the nauseating mustard yellow cardigan for Éowyn to wear. It had once belonged to his mum, Finduilas of Amroth. Only Faramir knew the real reason his mum had died. Finduilas was hunted down because she had stolen twelve of Mr Rogers' cardigans from his spiffy closet with the sliding door. So anyway, Éowyn put on the nasty cardigan and gazed at Faramir.

"Darkness is coming," she whispered. "Oh Eru, if only I were a goose in pink slippers from Payless Shoe Source!"

Faramir, being the oh-so-sweet dude he was, turned on a random torch, whose name was indeed Bobby. Bobby the torch lit up everything in sight. Farrikins and Éowyn were finally able to see stuff that they couldn't before, such as dead squirrels, stars, an Applebee's restaurant and other romantic shit. Éowyn, who had been longing for light, started reading a 'Senior Citizens Gone Wild' magazine that she had stolen from Ioreth, everyone's favourite gooseplop.

"In this hour I do not believe that darkness will endure...ooh...a spider!" said Faramir dreamily, picking up a hairy brown spider. Éowyn looked at him questioningly. Faramir chucked the spider at Willy Wonka and kissed Éowyn passionately like an old Chinese man in an anger management class. This kiss was better than any kiss. Kissing a deranged shieldmaiden was better than kissing Boromir, Beregond, and even Denethor, who was the best freaking kisser in the world. As for Éowyn, she was glad that Faramir was not all wrinkly like Théoden, whom she had frequently snogged when there was nothing better to do. The two idiots could hear voices singing in the distance...

Faramir and Éowyn could not resist. They tore off their skimpy clothes and went streaking while singing along to 'Japanese Boy'. It was the best day of their measly lives.

**-a few months later, you tender octopus man- **

"Cat, dog, and rabbit feet..." Éowyn said sadly. "...go pitter-patter on the street. There has never been a sound as sweet...as the pitter-patter of animal feet."

Alas, my dear buddy, Éowyn was depressed like a pregnant goldfish at a Frank Sinatra concert. Faramir had left the Houses of Healing to do his special stewardly duties around the city, such as beating up old people, spraying expensive cologne on watermelons, and playing chess with opera singers named Harold. She missed him, but yet she did not. Faramir was a great person to complain to, and she kind of liked him like that, but she was still grieving over the loss of the sloth, who had died from a hangnail.

Éowyn sighed and looked around with tears in her eyes. She was in the tower of Minas Anor, the freaking ugliest tower ever. Everything made her sad, especially the fact that her former crush, Aragorn Melissa, heir of some important king guy who nobody cares about, was engaged to a mint-flavoured toothpick from a local steakhouse. Despite the fact that everything was green and the weather was warm, she was still depressed. It made everyone wonder if she had ever heard of a shrink.

Just then, the little bitch could hear a terrible something singing. Whatever was singing sounded like the sad mixture of Mariah Carey and Michael Jackson. Éowyn spotted Faramir on the other side of the tower. He was wearing a red pleather miniskirt, and he was holding wilted flowers and a blown-up condom, which was probably supposed to be some sort of deranged balloon.

"Éowyn, I'm back!" he called excitedly. "I have presents for you!"

She ignored him.

"Please," begged Faramir, getting to his knees in front of Éowyn. "I love you although I hardly know you. Marry me or else!"

Éowyn slapped Farrikins, causing him to cry. The two insane people sat there until Faramir had finished crying. He stood up and began to sing in his horrible voice...

_Please, Éowyn, say that you want me,  
Promise me that your arse is wild and free,  
Love me, hold me, take me to the park,  
Then I won't randomly turn into a shark,  
Touch me, comfort me, wrap me up in a white sheet,  
Then I won't be forced to sniff Eomer's feet,  
I love you like a swan loves a flamingo,  
Hey, bitch! Let's dance to the Cotton Eye Joe!  
I know you love me, you want to feel my greasy butt,  
So put down your porno magazines and stop being a slut,  
Excuse me, fair lady, but now I must consume a grasshopper,  
Always remember not to shop at Price Chopper._

Faramir threw himself back on the ground and started bawling like a file cabinet in a funeral home with a clicky pen and a polka-dotted gooseplop named Jose. Éowyn then thought about something she hadn't thought about before. Faramir was a sweet man. He would do anything for her. What if she married him? Surely she would be happy. If not, she could just murder the little sucker and move to Bangladesh.

She pondered this for another moment. Yes, this was what she wanted. She cleared her throat and Faramir looked up expectantly.

"Faramir?"

"Yes?"

"Uh...um..." Éowyn started. This was harder than she thought. "Um...oompa loompas wear pants."

"Yes, they do," replied Faramir, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"FaramirIloveyou!"

"What?"

"I love you," she said. "Marry me, you vile cookie stomper!"

So on that fateful spring day in 3019 of the third age, Faramir and Éowyn had a heavy snog session in Minas Anor. People were watching them from the ground, but it did not bother them one bit. Most people had taken to chucking marzipans at them, but Ronald McDonald didn't.

"This is unfair!" Ronald protested. "I don't have a lover to snog!"

The Hamburglar snuck up on him from behind and tapped his shoulder. "I can change that!"

Ronald McDonald and the Hamburglar snogged. They too began to chuck marzipans at Faramir and Éowyn.

Éowyn and Faramir lived happily ever after like a blueberry muffin that likes playing tennis with foreign language teachers on Saturday afternoons after poking random livestock with a monk named Gretchen.

**-The End-**


	2. The Battle of Mrs Fields

**The Battle of Mrs Fields**

_Mrs Fields is what Americans call a 'soccer mom', aka a homely woman who takes the kids to soccer practice, drives a minivan, lives in a normal house, enjoys baking things and has a perfect life, complete with a golden retriever and a white picket fence. Mrs Fields is NOT that company, nor does she work for it. Forgive me for poking fun at American 'soccer moms.'_

_I don't own Lord of the Rings._

* * *

"There's a spider...in my apple cider..." sang Théoden, king of some stupid country called Rohan. "...la la la la! It's in my cup...climbing up...because it's a spider...in my apple cider! LA...LA!"

He was riding into battle with his stupid army of stupid people from Rohan. It was a lovely morning before sunrise. The otters were chirping, the unicorns were eating their young, and the lizards were howling at the moon as he rode past. Théoden never would have guessed that this morning would be his last.

Just then, Snowmane reared and Théoden fell to the ground like a girl scout on the fourth night of Hanukah. He blinked and tried to get up, but Snowmane was on top of him...and he liked it. Snowmane neighed and tried to get up as well, but he was hurt badly from the Nerf dart that had struck him in the groin.

"Muahahaha!" something shrieked. Théoden closed his ugly eyes and took a nap. Merry, who heard the evil laughter, put down his porno magazine featuring Gandalf and Elrond's eyebrows and ran out to see what made that freaky noise.

Merrykins was shocked at what he saw. There was a nazgûl, but it was covered in pink feathers and shiny Christmas lights. On top of that freaky nazgûl was a scary woman with short, obviously dyed red hair in khaki slacks, Keds trainers, and a frilly apron. She was holding her son's soccer ball on a swingy stick and a Betty Crocker cookbook. Merry knew who this was. She was Mrs Fields, the most feared soccer mom of Angmar.

"Strip off his flesh," Mrs Fields commanded her nazgûl. She was talking about Théoden, everyone's favourite greeble. "And then bake him into a delicious pie that I can give to Billy's soccer coach!"

"Begone, foul soccer mom, lord of carry-out dinners from Boston Market!" yelled Dernhelm. "Leave the dead in peace!"

"Don't come between a vicious soccer mom and her prey," whispered Mrs Fields. "Come on, come and get me!"

The nazgûl randomly fell over and died of constipation. Merry giggled because he would love to see a fight between a soccer mom and Dernhelm. He took out a portable microwave and made popcorn. The popcorn went 'crunch crunch crunch' as Merry and a random Easterling ate and viewed the showdown between a creepy soccer mom and a constipated Rohirric person.

Mrs Fields laughed evilly and swung the soccer ball around like a giant squid at a Broadway play. "No man can hinder me," she said maliciously, farting in Dernhelm's face.

"I AM NO MAN!" Dernhelm pulled off his/her mask and revealed his/her true identity... Éowyn. Merry cried and tossed the bucket of popcorn at her in frustration. He had been looking forward to seducing Dernhelm because he was supposed to be a man.

"Shit," muttered Mrs Fields. "I think I just soiled myself."

There was a long silence, but that silence was broken by Mrs Fields' loud screams. She grabbed her knee and hopped around like a jupiter bunny on cocaine. Alas, Merry had given her a belly button ring in the back of her knee with an old nail gun that he had stolen from the Home Alone kid. Mrs Fields staggered and leaned forward, giving Éowyn an opportunity to whack her with the inflatable pink dolphin that the author won at a fair in Gettysburg.

The inflatable dolphin squeaked and squeaked and squeaked and freaking squeaked some more as Éowyn repeatedly hit Mrs Fields with it. Merry made some more popcorn, and just when it was done, Éowyn stabbed Mrs Fields with an unripe strawberry named Gerard. Mrs Fields fell to the ground and died.

Merry jumped for joy as Éowyn collapsed as well. War was fun, even more fun than senile geezers with unibrows, photographing lemons, and even watching a catfish play a banjo. He suddenly remembered that Théoden was still alive, and he quickly crawled over to him. Théoden obviously forgot about Merry because he was making love to Snowmane like there was no tomorrow...and there wouldn't be a tomorrow for him anyway.

"Oooh, do me harder!" exclaimed Théoden. "Where's Éomer? He must be king after me."

"Up your arse," replied Merry.

"What a shame," Théoden said sadly. "I would like to poop him out, but there's so much pressure on me. I feel like a punk rocker during mating season. Oh, Eru, wouldn't it be cool if I met a breadstick with legs? What would I do? I mean, I can't consume a fudgy judge! My butt is tingly...yes, sir, I did indeed prank the Domino's delivery man. I slept with his mother, too. GUACAMOLE!"

"Théoden King, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Good question. Would you like some igfrads?" Théoden asked. "Kraxxiesmdf Islam...I FOUND NEMO!" And with that, Théoden died, passed on to something better, met his maker, went to Davy Jones' locker, and became worm chow.

Éomer rode up on his pink tricycle and saw Merry standing over Théoden and Éowyn's bodies. He shoved Merry aside like a prostate gland in a boring calculus class. "Muahahahaha! I am king now. Take my uncle's body and sell him to Applebee's. They can make pie with him."

"What about your sister, you birdlike bastard?" asked a random Rohirric man, who was wearing Spongebob Squarepants slippers and a metallic blue tankini.

Éomer thought for a moment. "Cover her in glue, roll her around in a pile of feathers, strip off her feathery skin and make a kingly boa for me to wear to Sauron's Halloween party. I'm going as a nun," he paused and turned to Merry. "Do you Yahoo?"

Merry shook his head and gave Éomer the middle finger. "No, I Google."

"I ask Jeeves!" said Éomer happily. "What do you think his answer would be if I asked him out? Would he say no, or would he just pout? What would happen if I choked on a granola bar? Surely I'd run out and buy an expensive car..."

"That's enough poetry for now, Éomer King," one of his follower dudes said. "You're supposed to be mourning and fighting, if it's even possible to do that at the same time."

"Diabetes," he said simply, riding off into the sunrise, unaware that he had a giant period stain on his rear end. Merry stood where he was and blinked. No, the king and Éowyn couldn't be dead, they just couldn't. Merry did not want to accept the truth. He would never see them again, never poke them with gel pens or stuff illegal substances up their noses again. This made Merry feel heartbroken like a husky in a pair of Puma trainers that were originally worn by a Ukrainian newscaster with three arms and an electric green unibrow.

Merry began to sing the following song because the author had nothing better to do with him at the time. Fo sho, yo.

_Come with me, Ryder truck  
Dance with me, Ryder truck  
Over the valleys and through the plains  
We'll frolic along beside a train..._

"Éowyn's a-notta dead," interrupted a random Italian dude that Merry recognised as Imrahil. "She a-sleeping!"

Merry stared at Imrahil as he consumed numerous mouldy canolis. This man couldn't know about being a doctor. This was indeed true. The only thing that Imrahil knew was the price of platypus noses that were exported from Bora-Bora and South Africa.

"Holy, holy, I need a canoli!" Imrahil said.

Then the author got extremely lazy. Aragorn, who was still the heir of the non-important king guy, rode into battle with the dead people. Everyone joined hands and sang a song that went like this:

_Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts...  
Newts...  
Newts..._

_Oven fried newts for breakfast  
Chilled newts for lunch  
Flame-broiled newts for dinner  
And little toasted newts for a midnight snack!_

_Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts...  
Newts...  
Newts...  
_  
_Honey glazed newts for breakfast  
Roasted newts for lunch  
Salted newts for dinner  
And little toasted newts for a midnight snack!_

_Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts! For breakfast, lunch and dinner  
Newts...  
Newts...  
Newts..._

_We all love newts!_

"Worrrrrd," said Aragorn.


End file.
